This will be the first of an eight-part series dedicated to the sexual reawakening of a mature man and the explorations of a willing young woman. Enjoy, and as always, your feedback is welcomed and encouraged. Don't hold back. Mandy and John won't.
John Griffin watched from his office window as the Jeep pulled up the long winding driveway of his quaint Griffin's Bed and Breakfast establishment nestled high in the Catoctin mountain range of Western Maryland. The snow had started to fall at a rate of over one inch per hour, and this brave soul in the vehicle was going to be the only person to not have canceled their weekend reservation due to the forecast for an impending blizzard, prognosticators calling for it to be one of the worst in decades.
He looked down at the name on the reservation on his computer screen. Mandy Sinclair. He didn't recognize the name, but in and of itself that was not unusual. However, he looked at the birth date which accompanied the reservation form. July 29, 1987. This guest was only twenty-two years old, which was a bit unique for a solo guest at a secluded Bed and Breakfast. Especially so since the reservation was just made yesterday, about the same time when the remainder of the scheduled guests for the weekend were cancelling due to the forecast.
John had opened the B and B about two and half years ago, investing what was left of his pension after the divorce that had depleted his most of his life's savings. Since that time, he had essentially disassociated himself from the hubbub and chaos and general deceit of society. His former life on the outskirts of the nation's capital, where he had worked as a defense contractor in the Pentagon for a quarter-century, seemed like a distant memory, lost forever in the fog of the foothills. He had only been with a few women in these last few lonely years, a regular roll in the proverbial hay with the busty florist from the nearest local town for a few months. And, of course, there was that unforgettable two nights when a pair of recently divorced sisters made him their impromptu chew-toy during their weekend stay, but he no longer actively sought carnal possibilities. That WAS fun, though, he reminisced.
John was a well-preserved man of fifty years old, graying at the temples and a few more pounds around the midriff than he would like, perhaps, but he was content with his newly chosen 'after-life', as he called it. He took great pride in the immaculate presentation of his Bed and Breakfast, and it was quickly becoming a popular weekend getaway for the 'Beltway Beasts', as he called the young professionals that made the barely 100-mile sojourn to his place for a weekend of fucking. You can use any pseudonym that you want to, John mused to himself, but couples came to a Bed and Breakfast primarily to fuck, and he estimated that maybe forty percent of his registered guests used an alias, primarily to hide the fact that they were fucking someone who was not their spouse.
That's what made this particular visitor so intriguing. A twenty-two-year-old woman, braving a blizzard, to spend a weekend in quiet unaccompanied solitude. It would only be himself and this mysterious Mandy Sinclair this entire weekend, as the other guests had canceled due to the weather, and John had instructed his housekeepers and cooks not to report to work until the roads would be clear, which could take days. He had to admit to himself that he was more than curious to find out more about this Miss Mandy Sinclair, and he wondered for only a split second why he was experiencing a long dormant twitching within his impressive cock. It had been far too long between trysts, he'd decided.
John walked to the porch to greet his guest, squinting his eyes in the blowing snow, and when she stepped from the Jeep in her tight plum-colored sweater, spandex leggings, and thigh-high patent leather brown boots, he wasn't sure which jumped farther, his heart or his cock.
Mandy Sinclair was a fucking knockout, a petite beauty with tits that couldn't be concealed by any canvas bag, never mind a tight sweater. Was it his imagination, or when Mandy greeted him with a smile of her own, did her glance linger at his bulging crotch?
From Mandy's perspective, the long and treacherous ride from Northern Virginia had been more than worth it when she first set her eyes on the ruggedly handsome proprietor. The customer service aspect of this mountain getaway destination had come highly recommended to Mandy from two people whom she trusted as mentors, and it was immediately apparent that her needs could more than sufficiently be attended to this weekend. And, yes, her gaze did indeed linger longer than it should have at John's crotch. Accidentally on purpose. She smiled more broadly when she heard John's deep, friendly voice.
"Miss Sinclair, I don't know if you are truly a brave and adventurous woman, or a bit reckless. You had me worried that you were safe. I'm John Griffin, welcome to my inn."
Mandy extended her hand to her approaching caretaker for the next several days. "Please call me Mandy, Mr. Griffin." She batted her sparkling hazel eyes at him provocatively. Despite the nearly three decade difference in ages, the primal chemistry was instantaneous and undeniable. John wanted to bend her cute ass over a snow drift right then and there, and Mandy envisioned herself falling to her boot-clad knees and engulfing him within her warm mouth.
"Adventurous or reckless, hmmmmm?" Mandy pondered the choice. "Well, perhaps a bit of both, is that so bad?"
He smiled at Mandy, their eyes locking, as he reached into her trunk, mildly surprised to find only one piece of luggage. After all, she had booked herself for three nights, and with the roads threatening to be impassable beyond even that timeframe, who knew how long they might be sequestered?
